Page 16 of Raised at Rosings (Elizabeth and Darcy True Love Multiverse #4)

Chapter Fifteen

The calming scent of rosemary and mint filled Elizabeth’s lungs as she stood, hands planted firmly on her hips, feeling the tension slowly leave her body. The heavy, coal-tinged air of London was worlds away from the delicate fragrance of the country. But in the tiny kitchen garden of de Bourgh House, the soothing scent of rosemary and other herbs provided a moment of pastoral peace. Elizabeth needed some fresh air but didn’t want to leave Anne alone for the extended time a trip to one of London’s parks would require.

Her conversation with Mrs. Jessop, the day before, had been both helpful and bittersweet. Recalling Lady Catherine’s increasingly erratic behavior—the wild accusations from the day before and the frantic pacing that the staff had reported hearing from her room throughout the night—Elizabeth admitted the woman was unraveling. It was an uneasy feeling to know that she was no longer physically safe in the place she called home.

Pacing about the small garden, Elizabeth tried to work out some of her anxiety. Her childhood, marred by her mother’s abandonment, had taught her to rely on herself, but the love and support of Anne and Uncle Reggie had melted away some of the resulting uncertainty and left her with a softer sense of the world. It was not as if she had forgotten the harsh realities of the world, only felt somewhat protected from them, but that protection had been stripped away, and everything was crashing back in on her.

If that had been the only issue, she might have been able to better manage her emotions. Elizabeth also worried about her developing feelings for Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Jessop’s pointed suggestion about her and Mr. Darcy being a good match left a bittersweet taste in her mouth, a subtle yet persistent pain.

Mr. Darcy’s proud exterior hid a warm heart, and Elizabeth gradually learned to appreciate his true self. After a time, it made sense to her that a young man might hide who he was to protect himself from the grasping ways of those who would use him for their own gain. A deep affection blossomed in her heart for him, yet despite her burgeoning feelings, she wasn’t convinced that she could provide him with what he deserved.

While on some level they were equals, she was a gentleman’s daughter, just as Mr. Darcy was a gentleman. Elizabeth did not feel that she could be the type of woman he needed at his side. She knew he spent part of every year in London attending social function, while Elizabeth had never had a season or been presented to the queen. Surely his wife would be expected to host elegant dinner parties and engage in witty repartee with high society. Such skills seemed beyond Elizabeth’s reach. Not only had she never hosted so much as a tea party, but she was also more likely to insult someone than needlessly flatter them.

Still, the warmth of Mr. Darcy’s protection lingered, a stark contrast to the painful reality of a future that would never exist. Sighing, Elizabeth leaned over to pinch off a sprig of rosemary. She had grown accustomed to shielding her heart from Lady Catherine’s insults and cruelties, surly she would be able to adjust to her unrequited feelings for Mr. Darcy. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth brought the rosemary to her nose and took a deep breath, loving the woodsy sent.

Her peaceful moment ended abruptly as a hand clamped down on her arm, spinning her around with surprising force, the sudden movement jarring her. The rosemary, its scent heavy and sweet, tumbled from her fingers, which had gone completely numb. Elizabeth glanced over to see Mrs. Cuthburt’s knuckles whiten, her grip on Elizabeth’s arm a vise. The sharp pressure was a clear indication of her fierce loyalty to Lady Catherine and her eagerness to please her imperious mistress. Before her stood Lady Catherine, her expression triumphant, and Elizabeth knew that Mrs. Jessop had been so very correct.

Lady Catherine’s face twisted with malice, her voice dangerously low, as she prepared to unleash her wrath with more than just words. “Your delusions of grandeur are at an end!” Stepping forward, Lady Catherine glowered, adding, “While my brother might be oblivious to reality, I am not, I have seen all that you have done and what you intend to do, and I will not let you win.”

Tilting her head, Elizabeth gazed at Lady Catherine and even knowing it would not help matters, found herself saying, “What is it that you think I am trying to win, Lady Catherine?”

“Win? Win!” shouted Lady Catherine, spittle flying into Elizabeth’s face as she drew ever closer. “Why the game of life, you conniving strumpet! I have not plotted and planned my whole life, even going so far as to marry that fool Lewis and birthing that weakling, all for nothing. The reward for my suffering, for the indignities I have endured, is victory. I will not be usurped by you now that I am able to reap the benefits and do as I wish.”

Gasping for breath, Lady Catherine glared at Elizabeth, her chest heaving, the air thick with malice. Meanwhile, Elizabeth was focused instead on her options. As tight as the grip on her arm was, Elizabeth knew that Mrs. Cuthburt was not a fit woman, and it was possible that Elizabeth would be able to jerk free. If she could just make her way back into the house, Elizabeth was confident that the rest of the staff would stand firm against Lady Catherine and protect her.

“The carriage has arrived, my lady.” Mrs. Cuthburt’s announcement interrupted Elizabeth’s planning and with a sinking feeling she saw two men jump down from a hackney cab and let themselves in through the side gate.

Stepping back from Elizabeth with a smile, Lady Catherine said, “Wonderful. We can proceed as planned.” With a careful step, she walked toward the two laborers, their faces etched with the hard work of their lives, and handed each a small, weighty object that Elizabeth assumed was payment for their services. Continuing toward the carriage, Lady Catherine called back to Elizabeth. “It is time to go for a ride.”

“It is humorous that you called Aunt Catherine a Gorgon, when just yesterday Miss Elizabeth called her a dragon. I do not know which label is more apropos.” Slicing a thick piece of smoky ham, Darcy popped a piece into his mouth, the salty flavor dancing on his tongue as he chewed it thoughtfully. Richard had eaten all but one piece of bacon by the time he came back down, but Darcy liked ham almost as much, so he was not too disgruntled.

A low chuckle rumbled in Richard’s chest as he declared, “Either way, Aunt Catherine is a monster, and she must be slain.” The words were sharp, edged with a grim determination. He punctuated his comment with rather inelegant stabs of his fork at his eggs.

“Is your father still convinced that she is contained?” asked Darcy.

With a scoff, Richard shook his head, but waited to finish chewing and swallowing before saying, “My father believes yesterday’s threats will control his sister, or at least keep her cowed until Anne has passed, and I can take control of everything.”

Realizing that he was grinding his teeth, Darcy consciously unclenched his jaw and, after taking a breath and said, “If he believes that, he is fooling himself.”

Years of friendship with his cousin helped Darcy to recognize the anger and frustration on Richard’s face when he put down his utensils and pushed his plate away. Throwing down his serviette, he said, “You and I both know that, but he is too used to the way he interacts with the lords in parliament. He forgets that some people, when pushed too far, will unleash a furious, uncontrolled rage, disregarding any potential repercussions and Aunt Catherine is that sort of person.”

“That is exactly why I worry for Elizabeth.” Leaning back in his chair, Darcy rubbed at his furrowed brow. “I am afraid that Aunt Catherine will do something drastic before we can do anything to stop her.”

Getting up, Richard went to the side table and poured himself another cup of coffee. Adding a splash of cream, he stirred the coffee, the clinking spoon echoing in the quiet room as he leaned against the sideboard. He said, “You are not alone in that fear, which is why I have sent one of our footmen over to de Bourgh House. He has received strict orders to prevent our aunt from harming Lizzie or any of the staff. Thankfully, he is the sort of man who can think for himself and will not be cowed by our aunt or her antics.”

A deep sigh escaped Darcy’s lips as he nodded, his voice a low rumble, a hint of regret in his tone, and said, “That is something…more than I did, to be sure.”

Walking over, Richard clasped Darcy on the shoulder, saying, “Do not fret. The weight of your newfound love was so profound that it paralyzed you, leaving you unable to do much more than try to analyze it to death and run from the feeling like a frightened rabbit. You can plan to protect her the next time she needs help.”

Shoving Richard’s hand away with a laugh, Darcy rolled his eyes at his jovial cousin. He could tell, despite the odd way he was going about it, that Richard was trying to cheer him up. It was a clumsy but kind gesture. Standing up, Darcy left the room, knowing that Richard would follow him as he walked back to his study.

The fire in his study was nearly out, so Darcy entered and used the poker to nudge the reluctant logs, hearing them shift with a dull thud. Soon enough, the fire crackled and popped, growing into a comforting blaze that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Holding his hands out to the warmth, Darcy said, “As grateful as I am that you put your plan in motion, I wish we could do more, that I could do more.”

Richard dropped into one of the overstuffed chairs near the fire, saying, “What you want to do is rush over there and scoop up Lizzy and bring her back here or better yet Pemberley so you can keep her safe from Aunt Catherine and everything in the world that could harm her. I will tell you now that taking away her choice to do as she pleases will get you nowhere with her. That kind of behavior won’t get you anywhere with most women; it’s off-putting and disrespectful.”

Darcy, completely taken aback by Richard’s pointed remark, sat down in the chair across from him and asked, “And how is that something you know?”

“I am not as reticent as you are, Darcy. When I dance at balls, I actually talk with the ladies and from that I have learned an all-important fact.” Leaning slightly forward in his chair, Richard continued, “Women are people just like you and me.”

A moment passed in silence before Darcy managed to respond. His voice full of incredulity, Darcy said, “I think Bingley’s insanity must be infecting you, Richard. You are no longer making any sense.”

Face serious, Richard asked, “Suppose someone comes in, declaring your current location unsafe despite the many important tasks that you have to do, and then forcibly removes you to an undisclosed location without offering you any say in the matter. How would you feel?”

Darcy wanted to respond flippantly, but he knew Richard wanted a serious answer, so he thought a moment before saying, “I would be angry. I am an adult and perfectly capable of making my own decisions about where I go and what I do. It would be disrespectful of someone to step in and take my choice away when I am intelligent enough to evaluate my situation and take steps to protect myself on my own.”

“What makes a woman, Lizzie, for example, any different? Why would she not be just as angry to have someone to swoop in and take charge?”

“But...” Darcy began but stopped when he began to question the validity of his argument. He wanted to say that a woman would be grateful for his help when, really, he had no evidence to prove such an idea was so. Was it simply an arrogant assumption that his help would be welcomed by a woman?

Richard saw Darcy’s pause and said, a hint of challenge in his tone, “Darcy, you are capable of deciding how to act, and so is any lady.” When Darcy did not interrupt or bluster, Richard continued, “A woman is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and her anger is a force to be reckoned with if those decisions are disregarded. Frankly, I find it appalling that our society often views women as children, reducing them to beings incapable of independent thought and decision-making. Granted, there are many women who are not able to direct their destinies as they should, but I blame that on never being taught to think as they should, not some inherent trait. How do you think Lizzy would react if you took away her choice to act as she wished?”

Darcy contemplated Richard’s statement. He could see the logic in what he said. More than that, he saw that one of the things that made Miss Elizabeth different from all the debutantes he had met over the years was that she spoke her mind, whereas most women simply parroted what seemed to be publicly accepted drivel. He had long lauded the influence she had over Georgianna, bringing her out of her shell and giving her the courage to take on various responsibilities about Pemberley.

Then, his fear getting the best of him, shaking his head, Darcy blurted, “But Elizabeth is vulnerable to Aunt Catherine’s machinations, and she could be seriously harmed. Not only is her reputation in danger, if Aunt Catherine does something rash, her very life could be at stake.”

“True, but that will not make her any happier if you take away her right to proceed as she wishes.” Richard looked at Darcy, his eyebrows raised, his expression almost smug.

Put off by Richard’s attitude despite how useful his advice was, Darcy ground out through clenched teeth, “What do you suggest I do, oh wise one?”

Stretching his feet out, a smug expression still on his face, Richard drawled, “Talk to her; tell her your worries and work together to create a plan to keep her safe.”

There were several habits that Elizabeth developed as a result of being abandoned in a strange town by her mother as a child. She knew what it was to be completely at the mercy of strangers and did all she could to be prepared should something similar ever happen. Having found safety and comfort in the elegant home of Lewis de Bourgh, Elizabeth eventually ceased her former habits. The quiet compassion and care exhibited by Uncle Lewis and Anne did much to soothe her anxieties. Even after he had died, Elizabeth had not felt the need to protect herself from the world. After all, she was a grown woman and even with Lady Catherine as her adversary, secure in her home and status, she knew that level of vulnerability was unlikely to return.

That was, however, until the plain speaking she received from Mrs. Jessop. Having her eyes opened to the extent at which Lady Catherine was liable to lash out at her had Elizabeth return to her old habits, and it was those habits that Elizabeth suspected would help her escape Lady Catherine’s wrath, hopefully unharmed. The last thing she had done before going to bed the night before was to sew coins into the hem of her winter cape and the dress that she would wear the next day. She had also been sure to place the small but very sharp knife, a gift from Richard, in her boot. So even as she looked out the window of the strange carriage, Elizabeth did not entirely panic. She knew she had the means to protect herself and pay for transport somewhere safe. She just had to be alert to the opportunities that would present themselves to escape Lady Catherine’s clutches.

Attempting to appear nonchalant, Elizabeth searched her view of the street, hoping to catch a glance of something she recognized. Nothing looked familiar; crumbling buildings littered with trash screamed of a place far removed from the London she knew. The air itself felt heavy with the unfamiliar scent of decay and despair. Returning her gaze back to the two women seated across from her, Elizabeth forced herself not to finger the coins sewn into the hem of her cape and alert them to their existence.

Mrs. Cuthburt sat next to Lady Catherine, ever the silent shadow. Despite her involvement in the scheme, the woman wouldn’t meet Elizabeth’s gaze, her guilt palpable in the heavy silence. Elizabeth wanted to feel sorry for such a beaten creature but could not muster it. Instead, she decided to think about what might be coming and what she could do to counter it; she was determined to not be the victim that Lady Catherine wanted her to be.

Elizabeth was abruptly pulled out of the contingency plans that she was forming when Lady Catherine’s sharp voice cut through the air, demanding, “Do you have nothing to say for yourself? No apology for your abominable behavior? No plea for mercy and promise to better know your place?”

Pausing to choose her words, Elizabeth defiantly locked eyes with the woman she had treated with deference up until that point. “What is there to say? I know you well enough to know that your fit of anger will not be satisfied by anything I might say, no matter how true.” Tilting her head, Elizabeth studied the woman who had welcomed her into her home all those years ago, albeit rather grudgingly and under her husband’s direction. While some women aged like fine wine, becoming more statuesque and beautiful, Lady Catherine had not. No, she had aged more like sour grapes turning into vinegar. The countless years spent indoors and evading physical activity had caused her complexion to become pallid and her body to become flabby, neither of which her outdated clothing could effectively conceal.

“This is not to be born!” Lady Catherine spat, leaning forward. “You had nothing but the clothes on your back when my family found you. Year after year, I have ensured your well-being. You were provided with clothing, food, and education, and this is how you repay me? How can you not be sorry for attempting to usurp me?”

Elizabeth had developed a practiced air of quiet deference around Lady Catherine, stifling her natural inclination for truth and clever banter to avoid conflict with the cruel woman. But now, with no goodwill left to preserve, she confidently stated, “Your husband was the one who decided to take me in, though I will grant that you did not see me removed when he died. I was cared for by the staff at Rosings and even your family, the earl and countess. From you, I have received nothing except icy disdain.” Sitting up straighter, Elizabeth wrapped herself in dignity as she declared, “I am sorry that someone as wonderful as Anne has had the misfortune of having you as a mother—almost anyone else could have done better, except perhaps my own mother. If things continue as they seem, I will regret losing the opportunity to assist the residents of Rosings.”

Taking a breath, Elizabeth looked Lady Catherine dead in the eye and added, “Many regrets may fill my life—past choices, chances missed, and maybe even my relationship with my mother—but I regret nothing about how I interacted with you. You asked me if I regretted my actions, but it could not be farther than the truth. I am proud that I have been able to subvert your wishes and protect the people I have come to care for. You proclaim how things should be done without the first hint of understanding. If you had been left to run rampant after Uncle Lewis died, Rosings would have been bankrupt within a year and Anne would have died of neglect. You are a supercilious fool, and I am confident you will be your own ruination.” Somehow, Elizabeth was not surprised by the sting of the slap across her face.

The older woman’s hostile hauteur gave way to a fierce outburst. Thumping on the roof with her cane, Lady Catherine shouted, “Stop the carriage immediately! I will not be in this slattern’s presence one minute more.” Gripping at Elizabeth’s arm with a weakened hand strengthened by fury, she ground out, “Listen to me. I am the daughter of an earl and the wife of a baronet. You are nothing! Born of a lowly gentleman with nothing but a small estate to his name and a mother not worthy of mention. With this background, you think to be insolent to me? Should I ever see you again, I will know how to act.”

They were still staring at each other, neither backing down, when the footman cleared his throat by the open carriage door. Turning to look at the man, Lady Catherine shoved Elizabeth at him and proclaimed, “Leave her in the gutter where she belongs. I wish to return to de Bourgh House with all haste. There is much for me to do.”

Elizabeth was grateful the man who stood at the door was kind enough to catch her before she tumbled onto the broken cobblestones. Smiling up at him in thanks, Elizabeth saw the worry in his eyes but shook her head. Surely, he had a family to support and could not know the depth of Lady Catherine’s growing insanity. Briefly glancing into the darkness of the carriage where Lady Catherine stewed, he clasped her hand and whispered urgently, “This is not a safe place for the likes of you, but there will be an alehouse near where you can get another carriage. May God guide your path.”

Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes as she recognized the cold heaviness of the coins in her hand. Swallowing hard, she murmured, “Thank you.” With a quick nod, the man climbed back onto the carriage, the sound of hooves echoing hollowly as it pulled further down the street, leaving her alone in the heart of a London slum.